Of Magpies and Daffodils
by RestrainedRebel
Summary: Jackunzel AU, takes place in nineteenth century Europe.
1. Chapter 1

**London England, 1829**

 **Early Autumn**

The city of London was bustling, the gray fog of the early morning doing little to hide the quick moving figures within the train station. It was poorly erected, still under construction and serving in unorganized, temporary function. Men and women who could afford it purchased tickets headed in and out of town. Trains were becoming less of a novelty and more of a necessity, but the fact failed to erased the excitement flushing the cheeks of the patrons.

The city population had expanded greatly in the last decade, and there was no sign of stop. Slums were erected and filled, and much of the poor found jobs working in the railroad or in factories. Those poor could be seen now, keeping away from the patrons of the train station and working busily. They were dirty and wore less fashionable attire, consisting of homespun clothes passed on from other family members. Unattended children ran inbetween the workers and the patrons, ducking beneath tools of the trade and women's lace parasaols.

The high pitched scream of a steam whistle broke the air, and the railway was cleared of pedestrians as a dark train jutted to a stop before the station.

A dark suited worker swung from the engine compartment, heavy boots landing on the stoned ground and hat low over his eyes. He undertook crowd control as people exited, gathering their luggage and stepping off the machine. Men helped the ladies down and took their bags. Children flew off in energetic leaps and unruly cries of excitement.

A young woman peered through the trains windows as members shuffled through the aisle and off the train, the beginnings of a smile tugging her mouth. She wore a gown of the latest fashion, green fabric tight around her waist and legs, the long sleeves of her matching coat ending with laced ruffles and embroidery. Her hair was long, even for the era, much of it was bunched up in braided knots above her ears, the rest hung down her back in golden ringlets, pooling in her seat as she stood. An elaborate hat of matching hue to her gown and coat perched above her piled hair, wide and piled with flowers made of twisted fabric. Her hands twisted nervously in front of her, and in poor habit she pulled a glove off and bunched it in her fist.

She was young, in her early twenties, and unwedded, much to her family's disappointment. Hailing from a German province, she had been sent to London to stay with her aunt, who was determined to find her a husband. Whether the woman wanted this or not was difficult to say, she spent far too much of her time reading, filling her head with romantic ideas of the foolhardy bohemians.

Nervous to leave the train but excited to travel and experience something new, she remained rooted to her spot, staring anxiously out the window.

Most of the passengers had left, and the dirtied workers flooded the train, some rushing to clean the compartments and others checking the mechanical aspects, some bravely climbing atop and beneath the machine. This she watched with awed delight, having never been around the laboring class before.

She caught movement in the crowd of patrons outside, a stern looking woman with dark hair and deep wrinkles, a red sash tied tight about her slender waist. There she was, Aunt Gothel.

The young woman signed and blindly stepped away from the window, reaching above her to grab her bag. It was too heavy, due to the large amount of reading material she had brought. Pulling it down sent her reeling backwards, as she toppled over she crashed into another person. Clumsily she fell, hat flying into the air and books flying.

She blinked and sat up, hands pushing against the floor and the shoulder of the man she had brought down with her. He was caught partly beneath her, her hat somehow landing on his head and covering his face from view. The young woman felt her face flush with embarrassment, and covered her mouth in surprise, letting out a squeak.

"Es tut mir leid!" She cried, forgetting where she was in her embarrassment. She tried to push herself up and away from him, but hit her head on one of the chairs, hissing and plopping back down.

The man began laughing, grasping her hat with pale, soot stained hands and removing it. For a moment she was captivated, having never seen a person with his features. His eyes were powder blue and his hair was stark white, but his skin strangely was wrinkle free, the only creases being those from his wide smile.

Still chuckling, he set her hat improperly back on her head, scooting backwards to stand and remove himself from beneath her legs. The action brought her blush back full force, and she grabbed the seat behind her, trying to pull herself to her feet. Her skirts prohibited free leg movement, and she struggled to bend her knees and stand.

The stranger hadn't stopped his laughter, much to her ire, but he did reach down and grasp her arm, pulling her to her heeled feet. "Are you okay ma'am?" He asked, and she couldn't place his accent.

She nodded, and pulled her arm from his hand. "Oh! My books!" She gasped, then bent at the waist to retrieve them. To her surprise the stranger helped, placing her belongings neatly in the seat. Together they refilled her heavy bag and clasped it shut.

"Thank you, sir." She mumbled, anxious - for her aunt was still waiting - and embarrassed at the fuss she had caused. She smoothed her hair and avoided eye contact, itching to abandon the encounter.

The stranger placed the heavy bag in her small hands, then took a step back, drawing her gaze. The mirth from earlier had died, but a smile still tugged his mouth. "You may want to leave ma'am, the train'll be moving soon. Unless you're expecting to assault other railroaders?"

To her surprise, she smiled. He was charming, in a humble yet self assured way. "No," She said, turning towards the exit. "Just you."

Her aunt was still waiting outside, and would likely be vexed.

She heard him laugh, a different kind of sound than before. It was filled with a surprised delight, and she felt her face warm.

"May I ask your name?" He called, just as she reached the steps.

The blonde woman opened her mouth to respond, only to feel a strong hand grab her arm, yanking her unattractively from the train. It was her Aunt, whose dark, graying hair was pulled tightly in a knot atop her head. She tried to pull back, but the grip was firm, and as soon as the woman's skin met hers all of the comfortable ease she had felt before vanished.

"Dumb girl," Her aunt scolded, dragging her away at such a pace Rapunzel - that indeed was her Christian name - forgot to look back, focused on being obedient. "You should have more sense than to stand alone in a train. People have schedules to keep, and you would do well to remember that."


	2. Chapter 2

Time passed and Rapunzel forgot the incident on the train.

This was an abnormal yet unavoidable consequence of days flying past. Rapunzel was of the type to fantasize and remember, every experience was worth revisiting time and time again. However, tutelage under Aunt Gothel was very demanding. She cooked and cleaned from sun up to dusk, and the evenings - which was when Gothel returned from her long work days - were filled with lessons of etiquette, singing, french, and painting.

She never had a weekend to herself, Gothel forcing her to attend sewing circles and salons with other eligible ladies of class. They seemed exciting in their newness, Rapunzel loved to meet people, but the social gatherings were soon revealed to be bars in an ever shrinking cage. The girls were without depth. They talked of weather and gowns and little else. They mocked the colors Rapunzel chose in her art work, and were quick to tire.

Rapunzel missed Cornea. She had been lonely there, yes, but she had been free to abandon her shoes and go racing, long hair billowing about her as though she could fly.

Her arms were strong from both work and play, and the other women had made it clear that displaying physical strength is no way to attract a suitor. Her flaws were high in number. She was too happy, too loud, too friendly, talked too much, lacking in grace, in talent. Women were meant to be seen not heard, accessories and caretakers for the men whose chose them and the families they were born to.

With Gothel's teachings she was slowly able to fit in with the chattering crowd, and she kept quiet about how isolated she felt. Letters to home became short and rare, she didn't want to burden her parents with how she felt, and was worried that one slip up would destroy the control she had over her emotions.

So as Autumn rains became snow and the days shortened, Rapunzel learned to behave within her cage, and tried to be optimistic and accepting of it.

It was during the first snow of the season, frost coating the rooftops and paved streets, smoke stacks piling high, that she ran into the man from the train.

She was walking home from an errand that Gothel sent her on, a bag of oranges, expensive and sweet, on her hip. The sky was gray and filled with heavy clouds. She stopped out of the way of carriages and bustling citizens to enjoy the snowfall, cheeks rosy and a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Nothing compares." A voice interrupted, breaking her tranquil moment. He stood before her, holding firewood beneath his arm and a caged rabbit in his hand.

"Pardon?" She asked, not understanding.

A sideways grin split his features, white hair glowing in the gray day.

"The snow. There's nothing quite like it."

She returned his smile and looked back at the sky, humming in agreement.

They shared silence, the bustling world seeming to fade away.

The moment broke with a metallic crash and the squeak of a rabbits scream. "Blast!" He swore, clutching his bleeding hand and glaring down at the creature.

Rapunzel's glove hand shot to her mouth in shock, and he glanced apologetically at her. "Sorry madam." He then bent down and righted the cage slowly, allowing the rabbit it's balance. Soft cooing sounds escaped his lips, and with a glance around at the busy street - no one paid the incident any mind - she joined him, clutching the oranges to her chest.

She watched as the rabbit's ears, erect in alarm, slowly lowered with the comforting sounds. It looked through the crate adamantly, still not trusting either of them but calmed all the same.

Rapunzel moved closer, hating the way her dress resisted any action she took, and made eye contact with the creature. "She's adorable." She gushed, watching it's wet nose twitch in the cold air.

The man from the train grimaced, sucking on his bloodied fingers. " _He_ is as mean as they come."

She giggled, "Somehow I doubt that." and stuck her fingers into the cage, letting him sniff her cautiously before scratching beneath his chin. "You're just misunderstood, are you not little one?"

She took in the hunched man's incredulous expression and laughed, shifting her bag and standing.

He grasped the cage once again, both males looking distrustfully at one another, and joined her.

They spoke simultaneously. "I remember you from the train." Shocking smiles onto one another's faces. The snow fall continued, and she decided she liked the way he looked beneath it, and she liked the way it felt with him.

"I never got your name." He reminded, and she was warmed by the attention.

She stuck out a gloved hand. "Rapunzel."

He took it, with his clean left hand, and the feeling was silly enough to widen both their smiles. "The world is owned by the right hand, Rapunzel." He laughed. "You can call me Jack."

"You haven't any gloves." She remarked, and to her surprise his cheeks colored. "I misplaced them."

She nodded, suddenly worried that she had crossed a line. Not everyone was the daughter of a wealthy ruling family in a German province.

"What are you plans for him?" She asked, referring to the rabbit.

"I caught him outside my home, I was hoping to take him to the butchers for some coin."

Her lips pressed into a line. Few things bother her visibly, but the taking of an animals life was one of them. She had grown up in an area of fertle land and warm summers. Most people lived off their crops, and if there was any meat it was fish. Catching animals and killing them for profit - or worse, for sport - was a line she disliked crossed.

He noticed her change in attitude, his smile that had been before constant, faltering.

"Did I overstep, Rapunzel?" He seemed genuinely concerned, and she felt her guard slip.

She thought back to her lessons, and could hear Gothel's scornful voice berating her for speaking. It was improper for a lady to converse with an unwed man beneath her class, and to be alone when doing so. More than that, however, was how she spoke with him. She was expressive of her opinions and overly casual. She failed to leave when he addressed her by anything other than 'madam', and she had given him her Christian name.

Around them the crowded street had dwindled in patrons, people having returned to their place of work or into pubs, escaping the bitter cold as the wind picked up.

Rapunzel curled her gloved hand into a fist, setting her shoulders.

"He is far too young to die." She said, looking down at the furry creature.

His blue eyes widened in surprise, and fear bolted through her.

He looked back down at the rabbit, then laughed humorously.

Rapunzel didn't join him. "I tell no jest."

He shook his head. "I mean not to mock you, forgive my offense. Someone at sunup said just the same." He made eye contact with her, and when he smiled it shone with a genuine light radiant in comparison to the ones prior.

"Let's set him free."


	3. Chapter 3

When Rapunzel returned home hours after sundown, bag of oranges lighter and face aching from her smile.

She and Jack hitched a ride on the back of a carriage, leaping from the street and holding tight to it's back. They laughed and grinned the entire time, walking into the heart of farmlands, sharing the sweet, tangy oranges, and setting the animal free. There was no carriage ride to be hijacked on the return trip, but they enjoyed each other's company beneath the countryside light of skyfire. The city outskirts was marked through the haze of smog by the dreamy illumination of gaslights.

It reminded her of home, and feeling warm and fuzzy despite the frigid air she told him of her cities summer lanterns. She was likewise enchanted by his tales of fireworks during the fourth of July, how his family would save their money to purchase oranges during the winter.

She learned that Jack was from America, a place marked by ingenuity of inventions and the curious institution. She knew little of their politics, but bringing up the later caused momentary strife, so they dropped the topic of his homeland. He wouldn't tell her why he came to Great Britain, and neither would she. It was a touchy subject, and better left unaddressed.

He left her outside her home, a tall, Gothic looking townhouse away from the impoverished city slums. Each house despite being in close proximity had a gate, and police strolled the well lit streets, tipping their hats as they passed.

She hadn't wanted him to leave, but their time together had come to an end, and so he did, but not without a crooked grin and a comical bow.

Her cheer dissipated as Rapunzel entered the home, at a lost as to the time.

At the head of the stairs, white hands clutching her nightgown tightly was Aunt Gothel.

She hurried down the stairs, hissed condemnation rapidly flying from clenched teeth. "Insolent! Disrespectful little girl! I take you in at your parent's request and this is how you behave!"

Quick as lightning, she back handed Rapunzel, stinging pain racing up her face and bringing tears to her eyes. The blonde stumbled from the force of the blow, falling backwards against a side table and knocking it over. The bag of oranges fell from her arms, the yellow fruit bouncing and rolling across the dark floor.

Gothel closed in on her. "I provide for you! I teach you and search for a proper suitor and you waste your days, my time, with-" She stopped, stepping adeptly over the produce and cornering the receding girl. Quick as a viper she snatched her hand and hair, giving both a hard squeeze.

"You're hurting me!" She gasped, bending towards the woman in efforts to ease the crushing pain.

"Who were you with?" She demanded, dark, graying hair frizzing about her head and pales eyes narrowed.

"I was alone!" Rapunzel cried, simultaneously shocked and proud. She had a level of control in her life, she was realizing. Jack showed her how things could be during their impromptu outing. She would not give in, would continue to lie, and most importantly of all she would continue to see Jack.

"There was no one else." She affirmed. And her Aunt blinked, dropping her hold on the woman and backing away.

They glared at one another, breathing heavily.

Rapunzel then began collecting the oranges, and Gothel sighed, pressing a bony hand to her temple.

"You must forgive my out burst," she said, neglecting to help the girl and moving about her as she worked. "It came from the love I have for your mother and you. You are my flower, my goddaughter." She stopped, wagging her finger at Rapunzel, who stood obediently although reluctantly. She pulled her into an embrace, and Rapunzel melted into the touch, having a weak spot for affection and comfort. "If something were to happen to you...my heart would take it not." She kissed Rapunzel's fallen, blonde hair, then pulled away.

"No put those away and go to bed, you have your missed lessons to catch up on tomorrow as well as your usual chores and outings. It pains me to do this," Gothel continued, and Rapunzel stiffened in expectation. "-but it is for your own good: I will be-"

"-No you can not-"

"-running errands from now on,-"

"You're actions are extreme-!"

"you will not leave the home without an escort, understood?"

Her quiet, strong voice left no room for arguments, and the idea of severe punishment glinted in her gaze.

Rapunzel's eyes filled with tears, and she ducked her head to hide them. Ladies were not supposed to cry, it was undignified and against her lessons.

"Understood?" Gothel repeated, and she nodded, her mind's eye focused on the white haired boy whose laughter and easy stride filled her afternoon.

"Yes Aunt Gothel."

She disappeared down the hall and into her room, and Rapunzel took a steadying breath. She finished collecting the oranges, dropped them off in the storage cellar, and headed up the stairs.

Her room was in the town home's attic. It was cold and drafty, and the only exit was above Gothel's room. Every time Rapunzel need to relieve herself during the night, she risked waking the woman.

As she climbed the final portion of stairs, step squeaking inconsistently beneath her feet, she could hear the croak of Gothel's call.

"Goodnight Flower!"

"Goodnight madam!" She returned, face devoid of life.

She entered her room and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood. She took her gloves from her hands and bunched them into balls. Gently, she touched her sore cheek. It was hot and tender. A shard lodged in her throat and she fought the urge to cry, taking deep breaths.

When she calmed she moved to the window, cranking it open and relishing in the cold air. Moonlight had broken through the clouds and smog, a rarity, and she basked in it's glow. She knew it to be true, without ever asking, that Jack loved the sight as much as she did. The were kindred spirits, cut from the same tapestry and tossed adrift.

He would rescue her from her prison of womanhood, of Gothel's lessons and of marriage preparations. Until then, she would be on her best behavior. She would be quiet and neat and restrained, everything an earnest, lively person like herself wasn't, and Gothel would be forced to return her independent outings to her.


	4. Chapter 4

He could still taste it, the heavily salted air of the deep sea. It pierced through smells of decay and infection, past the vomit and dizziness that had overtaken the sick and well.

Back then, there was never a dry spot. Water and it's sticky dew coated every inch of the vessel, including the uncomfortable belly where Jack had stayed. The British strangers had boarded his family's fishing boat, they had shot his father, and they had taken him.

He had then been stuck in rocking darkness. His summer clothes failed to warm his frail, unfed body, and he had trembled from fear and cold.

He didn't know how long he was on the ship, but he remembered arriving. The door opened above and an adult had snatched him from his filthy prison, handling him roughly. It had been both nighttime and during one of Great Britain's clear nights, and the moonlight seemed to cleanse him of the experience. It was a reminder, that light, of who he was. Not a creature to be pitied, but Jackson Overland.

The ship hand ordered him off the deck, off the ship, where a stern man grabbed him by the neck and dragged him through the night. Jack had been too dazed to react, too weak to disobey, but his fear spiked him into a paralyzed state of hyper awareness. The frost from the dipping temperatures had fascinated him, the mist hanging over the warm ocean water in protest of the colder season. And the moonlight, how it's touch grace the foreign land, and made it's shadows deepen.

Jack had lived as that man's servant for several years, his labor both in home and out in the fields was paid with violence. He wasn't allowed to speak, to wear nice clothes or to take any sort of care of himself. People ignored him when he was in public, tailing dutifully behind his master. He was helpless, invisible.

Albeit eventually, his master died, on a cold, windless night. And Jack was freed, sent to an orphanage of better, but by no means good, quality. There he stayed for a few more years, until he was old enough and strong enough - the amount of time it takes the body to recover from malnourished years was surprising - to get a job building and maintaining railroads.

The area exploded with industry, and the job was difficult yet rewarding. He worked day in and day out, and when he wasn't working he was tinkering or brainstorming ideas to make profits on the side. With taxes pressing unfairly upon the poor and the immigrants, every dollar was precious. He needed enough to return to his country, that was his goal, and it seemed every time he had enough the price went up or there was a spike in taxes.

He was never to be one without hope, however, and he kept working.

Until, that is, a young woman unintentionally knocked him over on a train, and his priorities shifted.

She had a slight accent, and occasionally a word would trip her, and she would have to take a frustrated moment to remember the English term. Her words when spoken lacked the British accent he had grown to hate, their snooty drawl that grated on his nerves and made him feel inferior. She was radiant, a star of optimism and spirit against the ugly backdrop of pollution. He worked for weeks thinking about her, the German woman whose hair fell past her waist in sun shared hues.

He told himself he was foolish for letting this thoughts linger, and had worked himself up into disregarding her memory, but all his progress was vanquished when he spotted her standing in the snowfall on a busy street, smiling at the sky.

He knew not whether it was the work of a higher being or plain chance, and he failed to care either way. He approached her with reverence and care, nerves twisting in his gut. He felt - and feeling can be the same as knowing - that this was his only opportunity to make a connection, to open a new door and leave his room of bottled ships and frost melt behind.

Jack focused on their only connection, he hadn't her name as one, and clung to the falling flakes of frozen water like a lifeline.

"Nothing compares." He had said, and in honesty nothing did to the sight of the petite foreigner, her eyes bursting with optimism beneath despair and isolation just like his did. She was lovely in the snow. Their conversation was filled with undercurrents of a need to connect with another person. To speak with them and be **heard.**

When she mentioned the rabbit he was reminded of the neighbor boy, Jamie, and their argument over whether to free or sell the rabbit had taken place that morning. To his surprise Rapunzel's intense green eyes, and her words spoken with honesty and strength of opinion many women avoided had done what a crying child couldn't: changed Jack's mind.

Yes, he wanted to - needed to - return home and see his mother, his sister, who both likely thought him dead, but the blow to his self esteem was deep when she shut herself off from him. Her looking away took color from his believed to be gray world, and before he consciously made the decision he was teaching her how to hijack a carriage ride without dropping her bags, setting the rabbit free.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good, smiled so big and laughed fully. It couldn't have been since he left America, and she brought the passion of his country back into his life.

One outing was all it took, and she became his world.

Back at home in his shared hovel with the diseased, the impoverished, and the alcoholic abusers of London, he sketched her into his plan, into the life he would build for himself back home. He would marry her, when he had enough coin, and he would take her to America.


	5. Chapter 5

The seasons changed, and the two hardly saw one another. Rapunzel was always locked away at home or during etiquette classes. She hardly had a moment to herself, but she forced her way through the situation with a smile on her face.

She was dignified in her isolation, and all it took was the cold winter air to remind her why she worked so hard.

She let french words fall from her tongue and painted reserved still-lifes of dull hues to please her instructors. She ripped the backbone from her passion to fit into the slim mold her aunt constructed for her, and wrote in eloquent yet constrained letters to her family, informing them of everything and nothing.

She wouldn't lose.

Hawk-eyed Gothel witnessed everything, searched for a sign of disobedience expected from a girl who possessed an abnormally free nature. The dark haired woman always held her pocket book on the tip of her tongue, readily to remind her of the cost of teaching Rapunzel. She would contradict herself by also referencing her heart, and Rapunzel wanted to scream and accuse her of having none.

Occasionally she would spot Jack, see him passing in a crowd or lingering outside her home. In public she'd ignore him, feigning ignorance and scurrying away. From her closed window, high above the street and clouded by frost she'd watch him. It didn't take long for one of the officers who protected the upper class to remove him from the neighborhood, his head hung in defeat.

It was her instinct to run to him and confess that her cold shoulder over the past few months wasn't by choice, and the look in his eyes whenever she dismissed him snapped her heart in two. Jack possessed wit too great to be misled by her distance, she assured herself during nights when the moon was obscured and the streets were silent. She needed him to trust her without any signal from her part.

She came to London to find a husband, but she wanted one less than ever before. She cared not for pretentious males dressed in finery with quill-calloused hands. The smelled of perfume and American tobacco, repulsing her. Jack had more than callouses, he was scarred and smelled of coal and moss. She missed him with an intensity that soon overshadowed that of her homeland and parents.

The american boy whose sharp blue eyes saw a person, not a pretty dove to feed and admire.

She focused on her goal, her glowing dream of a life spent with Jack, an eternal summer, that when she caught a suitor's eye, she failed to notice.

* * *

He was a young man, one who had recently fallen into wealth and carried himself in a pompous mimicry of the upper class. It bothered Gothel not, who eyed his fortune with a gleam of perverse greed. The agreed upon payment for her services was minimal, Gothel needed to uphold her reputation of loyalty. It wouldn't do to lose favor with her only royal connections, Rapunzel was a favor, and it was beginning to cost.

The girl was spineless and, admittedly, beautiful. Her youth shone as bright and vivid as her kind heart, she was a spring blossom.

If she married the flower into wealth, and Gothel played her cards right, all would be fixed. All would be right.


End file.
